


Silver Screen

by a_forgotten_note



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a lover of fine cinematography. Moreover, he loves the older, softer, and romantic movies that his partner cannot stand. If only Alfred could understand why Arthur loved those 'boring' movies so much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Screen

                Arthur enjoyed the experience of the silver screen. Slipping himself under a blanket after he put in a classic movie he knew he loved, sitting back against the sofa as the movie began, and leaning against someone’s shoulder when during a particularly cozy scene. He liked the pleasantries of a well-orchestrated soundtrack, and the way the music would swell when the protagonists held each other or kissed. Even falling asleep before the end credits was comfortable for him. Each moment was kind and soft in the comfort of his own home, and he was more than happy to curl his toes under the blanket and tuck himself under the arm of his lover as the movie played.

He liked the way his partner, Alfred, would insist on making popcorn to watch with the movie. He liked the way the smell of butter and salt lingered in the air around Alfred’s breath what he laughed at something that happened in the movie, or the way Alfred’s glasses would go askew on his face when he’d fall asleep on Arthur’s shoulder. And, on the odd occasion that Arthur would put in a horror movie, Alfred would jump and whimper when someone was killed. Arthur was more than happy to wrap his arms around Alfred and comfort him, enjoying their closeness more than the film itself.

Yes, it was fair to stay that Arthur was a lover of fine cinematography. But that wasn’t to stay that he enjoyed _every_ film. He enjoyed the classics, set in his native England and grainy with age and authenticity. He liked putting in old VCR tapes and watching the screen flicker and spark until his chosen movie would start playing in warbling, unsteady musical tones. The haughty, melodramatic acting of young women and greying men was more enjoyable than the explosive, unorganized movies of the current age, and Arthur easily immersed himself in the plot if there was even a hint of controversy.

So, as he sat with Alfred on their sofa, Arthur held his fingers to his lips and watched the heroine of the movie turn her back on her husband. A high offense in the time the movie was set in. When he heroine spoke, Arthur whispered with her, having memorized her lines years ago.

 _“I may be your wife, Alexander,”_ she and Arthur said together as a soft, stringed ballad began to crescendo. She flicked her hair over her shoulder, giving her husband a defiant, frustrated look as Arthur’s eyes stung with emotional tears. _“But I am my own woman as well.”_

“Uh… can you say, ‘cheesy?’” Alfred groaned obnoxiously, rolling his eyes at the screen.

Not bothering to even look at Alfred, Arthur smacked Alfred’s shoulder with his left hand as he shook his head. “Hush. You wouldn’t know good cinema if it hit you in the face.”

While Alfred heaved an impatient sigh, Arthur watched the grainy screen as the heroine, Henrietta, ran from her husband, her long, silken gown fluttering in her wake. Her husband reached after her, not moving from his place in the middle of the room as she made her exit. Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat, but he didn’t acknowledge it as the heroine’s husband fell to his knees and began to cry dramatically.

“Arthur,” said Alfred softly as he hooked an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “This movie is super old and super boring. Let’s watch something else. Like, maybe something from this century?”

                “No. It’s my turn to pick the movie, and I want to watch this one,” he said tiredly, watching the screen as the heroine stood on the rolling hills of the highlands, overlooking her newfound freedom. Pursing his lips, Arthur snuggled closer to Alfred’s side and sniffled, “Besides, this is my favorite part.”

                “Anything would be better than this,” Alfred groaned. “ _Sesame Street_ would be better than this.”

                Arthur snorted and smacked Alfred again, keeping his eyes glued to the screen as the heroine raced down the green, lush hills. “Again, you really don’t understand cinema.”

                “Yeah I do,” argued Alfred, shifting on the sofa so Arthur could get a fraction closer. “I mean… There’s a whole lot of stuff that goes on. And it’s caught on camera. That’s cinema. So like… _Sesame Street_ is totally cinema.” His fingers drummed on Arthur’s shoulder. “Besides, we could _learn_ things if we watch _Sesame Street_. You like learning.”

                “Alfred,” Arthur said as gently as he could when he placed his hand on Alfred’s knee. “I am not going to turn off this movie so you can relive your childhood, no matter how much you love singing about numbers. I like this movie, so we’re going to watch this movie.”

                Heaving another sigh, Alfred let his head loll back against the sofa. “ _Why?_ Why do you like this movie so much? Why do you like these crusty, old, boring movies?”

                Arthur made a face at that, patting Alfred’s knee absently as he spoke. “Because it’s a good story, Alfred. I’ve always loved good stories.”

                “ _The Conjuring_ is a good story,” Alfred replied haughtily. “There’s demons and everything.”

                “You cried during _The Conjuring_.” Arthur said flatly as he pursed his lips and squinted at the screen. “That night, when the cat was playing in the living room, you thought it was the bloody devil. I had to stay awake with you for two days.” Alfred was about to argue, possibly trying to salvage his mangled pride, but Arthur quickly held a finger to Alfred’s lips. “Shush! This is my favorite part…”

In the movie, Henrietta ran to her new lover, Clark, and held him close. The music ran free with wild strings and loving winds. Arthur’s chest ached at the familiar scene. The scene that marked Henrietta’s true freedom to be with the man that loved and respected her. The sheer joy in her expression was monitored closely by a well-angled camera, and Arthur bit his lower lip when she pulled back to kiss Clark.

Arthur wished he could be as brave as Henrietta. He wished he could hold his lover with such obvious conviction, the world would need to document it on camera and let the film go down in cinematic history. He wanted to kiss Alfred with enough emotion it would rattle his heart, but just softly enough that they were both left grasping at each other desperately.

When she spoke, Arthur’s lips shaped the words with her. The movement was an initial instinct that Arthur could never erase, not that he’d ever want to.

 _“Mark my words, my dearest love,”_ Henrietta and Arthur said together, whispering to themselves and their lovers alike. _“I will never be away from you… not again.”_

 _“Henrietta,”_ Clark exclaimed dramatically, pulling the small, beautiful woman close. _“Henrietta, my darling!”_

Letting his eyes flutter shut for only a moment, Arthur could almost hear Alfred’s voice in that earnest tone. _“Arthur!”_ He could say desperately, holding Arthur so tight that he couldn’t breathe. _“Arthur,”_ His strong hands pulling him closer… their lips barely a brush against each other’s… a desperate, torrid embrace. _“Arthur, Arthur,”_ Arthur could hear it: the finality of truth in Alfred’s rich, soothing voice. They are no longer separated, but bonded together in a way that no man nor woman could pry apart. “ _Arthur,_ ” he could croon into Arthur’s hair as he held him close. Arthur could feel the knot in his chest unwind. A sigh of relief. A breath of ecstasy. Happiness. _“Arthur, my darling!”_

“Arthur, babe,” Alfred said in a low tone that made Arthur open his eyes. His gaze flickered from the end credits of the film to Alfred’s face, blinking when Alfred smiled just a bit. “Are you crying?”

Scrambling to wipe at his eyes with the blanket on his lap, Arthur fervently shook his head. “Wha-what? No, no! I’m sure it’s all the damned butter you put on the popcorn… it’s polluting the goddamned air.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed as his smile turned smug. “You’re getting angry… that means you’re lying. You were totally crying!” Arthur turned away to glare at the dim wall to his right, but Alfred wriggled around on the couch, trying to regain his attention. “So what got you, huh? Was it the sappy kiss? The hug? The overly dramatic use of the word ‘darling?’”

As Alfred crawled closer, Arthur was forced to curl back against the arm of the sofa, studiously ignoring the American’s eyes. “No, that’s not it… You wouldn’t understand. You haven’t been paying attention.”

Smirking, Alfred lifted himself onto his knees, effectively looming over Arthur on all fours as the Englishman struggled to avoid his eye. “I’ve been paying attention. You like chick flicks. It’s obvious.”

                Rolling his eyes, Arthur curled himself into a tighter ball in the corner of the sofa, ignoring the way Alfred’s knees pressed into his side as he was effectively pinned against the cushions.

                “It’s more than that,” he argued, glaring at the rug on the floor as he stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest and tucked down his chin. “It’s serious,” Alfred kissed his cheek, “And there is a good,” a kiss to his jaw, and Arthur turned his face from Alfred as he grumbled, “ _Captivating_ storyline.”

                Alfred huffed disbelievingly against his neck, and Arthur bit his bottom lip and fought down a giggle. “’Captivating storyline,’” he repeated giddily, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s neck. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

                Rolling his eyes, Arthur pushed Alfred away and groaned as he got off of the couch, “You are _so_ insensitive.” Arthur slid off of the couch and hit the lights on the side of the room, stalking into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Why are we dating again?”

                “Hey!” Alfred yelped in response, chasing Arthur to the kitchen. “We’re dating because I’m charismatic and sexy.” Arthur shook his head as he started to put away the bag of popcorn kernels in the pantry. Alfred came up close behind him, pressing his lips to the shell of Arthur’s ear. “You _love_ me.”

                Arthur rolled his eyes again, enjoying the attention that Alfred was currently doting on the side of his neck. “I’m still upset that you don’t understand.”

                “I understand,” Alfred hummed, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s shoulder as he grumbled, “There’s totally drama when Lord Jamison tells Henrietta to do her ‘womanly duty.’ I mean, what the hell was wrong with that guy?” Arthur blinked in disbelief. Alfred was paid attention to the movie? While Alfred’s hands bracketed the curve of his hips, Arthur listened closely as the American murmured into the crook of his neck, “And when Clark says he’d fight Franklin for her hand? Totally chivalrous.”

                Smiling ever so slightly, Arthur moved with Alfred as he started to sway to and fro. “You… Do you even know what that word means?”

                “Yeah, totally,” Alfred chuckled lowly, poking his nose against Arthur’s neck as he breathed, “It means he’s a good guy. And when they hug at the end? Super romantic.”

                Pushing Alfred’s hands away, Arthur turned to fix his partner with a scrupulous stare. There was a warm, idiotic glitter in Alfred’s electric, blue eyes. He was kind, and soft, and he always knew just what to say to make Arthur bend to his ridiculous will. A perfectly lovely man. A perfectly lovely man that was summarizing Arthur’s favorite movie. The notion was enough to make Arthur’s chest feel warm with emotion.

                “You hate that movie,” noted Arthur with a hint of suspicion. “You’ve _always_ hated it.”

                Nodding his head slowly, Alfred took Arthur’s hips again and started to sway once more. “Yeah. I hate it. Like, with a passion,” he sighed, giving Arthur a cozy, knowing look. “But you like it. And it makes you weepy –”

                “It does _not_ make me weepy,” Arthur corrected with a glare.

                “Yeah, it does,” Alfred said with another nod. “And I love that about you. You get all that mushy… squishy…” he made a vague, twisting motion with his hand. “Romancy-lovey stuff. And you like it. It’s really sweet.”

                Frowning, Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck and pulled him down into a loose embrace. “Yes. And I like all of that ‘mushy, squishy, romancy-lovey’ stuff,” Arthur said softly, hearing Alfred laugh just a bit into his shoulder. Arthur smiled, “Do you know what that means?”

                Alfred held Arthur’s waist, kneading the small of his back with minute interest, “What?”

                Whispering into Alfred’s ear, Arthur smiled as he said, “It means we’re going to watch another one of those, in your delicate words, ‘boring, crusty old movies.’”

                “What? No!” Alfred groaned, leaning his weight onto Arthur as he whimpered and moaned, “No, no, no… not another one! Can’t we watch a movie that has shooting and explosions and sex?”

                Trying to pat Alfred’s back in a comforting manner, Arthur sighed to himself. He wished that Alfred could understand the unique, wonderful experience of Arthur’s favorite movies. He wanted to share that with someone special. Especially with Alfred. But, Alfred insisted on mocking his favorite movies. And Arthur would happily retaliate by making him suffer through another one.

                “Hold on tight, love,” Arthur grinned, slipping out from underneath Alfred’s weight. “I’m going to pick the most romantic, mushy, female-liberating movie I can find.”

                When he stepped out of the kitchen, Alfred only groaned louder. There was a clatter as Alfred fell forward against the kitchen countertop, begging Arthur to pick a different movie.

“Please,” Alfred called, falling to the floor dramatically. It was almost as dramatic as the acting in Arthur’s favorite films. He almost laughed, but Alfred interrupted him with more whining. “Something from this century! Something with some warm, soapy sex!”

Arthur hit a button on the dusty VCR to stop the movie, and started to rewind it to reset the tape. While there was the routine _whirr_ of the machine winding through the tape, Arthur called over his shoulder, “I want to watch my favorite movie,” he sighed, going through the multitude of old movies in the cabinet under the television. “Besides, we don’t need to watch a movie with soapy sex… we can have soapy sex ourselves.”

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur say Alfred clawing his way into the living room on his stomach with his cheek pressed to the floor. With the way his palms slipped and slid against the hardwood floors, he nearly looked like the demon spirits in one of the horror movies Alfred liked to watch. Shaking his head, Arthur listened to Alfred’s whining.

“You said the _last one_ was your favorite!” He cried, getting up on his hands and knees and crawling to the couch to sprawl across it. “Instead of the movie, let’s just get nasty.”

“No.”

“You always know how it ends,” Alfred said, “The girl doesn’t want to marry the bossy guy, she stands up for herself, and then she ends up happy with the good guy in the end!”

The reaction only made Arthur smiled wider. “Well… if you know how they all end, you won’t care which one I pick.”

Alfred started to fake-cry as Arthur put in another movie. He turned off the lights, and joined Alfred on the sofa in the newly dimmed room. There, he could happily pick up his formerly forgotten blanket, and pull it over himself as he laid down atop Alfred. Soft and comforting beneath him, Alfred linked his hands at the small of Arthur’s back and held him loosely as the movie began with echoing, worn tones of an orchestra that was too old to properly be remembered. Arthur smiled as Alfred’s whining subsided, and he watched the credits quietly.

Whether he liked to admit it or not, Alfred was paying attention. Soon, without fail, he would fall asleep and Arthur would have to take his glasses from his face before they were bent. Just like every other night that Arthur got to pick the movies they watched. It was just another reason that Arthur loved the experience of watching a good movie with Alfred. The quiet, the calm, and the solid sound of Alfred’s heartbeat through his shirt… Arthur would cautiously say that it was his favorite part of movie night. Arthur shifted atop Alfred’s chest, bracing his hands against Alfred’s sturdy chest.

                It was going to be a good night.

\- End -

**Author's Note:**

> Stop by my [tumblr](http://a-forgotten-note.tumblr.com/) with questions, comments and concerns.  
> Thank you!


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